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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071915">Lay Me Bare</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatAvalon/pseuds/CatAvalon'>CatAvalon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dress Me Up, Strip Me Down [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fashion &amp; Models, Angst, Christmas Dinner, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Eventual BDSM Elements, Eventual Smut, Fashion &amp; Couture, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Stereo-typical Cat Bathroom Scene, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Emotional Tension, work/life balance issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:40:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatAvalon/pseuds/CatAvalon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the same reasoning every time, though it may be worded differently. There’s a deadline. These designs won’t finish themselves. Lilia needs this done before I meet with her. Otabek is a strong man, he’s got to be to deal with the monotony of security work day in and day out, but beneath that he is a lover. Yuri’s lover. So what if all he wants to have is a lazy morning in bed with his boyfriend before the world wakes up around them?</p><p>Is that too much to ask?</p><p>*</p><p>Two years have passed since Otabek fell for Yuri Plisetsky, a fiercely ambitious fashion designer who works as though his life depends on it.</p><p>When it all becomes too much, though, what becomes the final cost? Yuri's job, or the love of his life?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dress Me Up, Strip Me Down [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Otayuriadvent2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lay Me Bare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Surprise!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An alarm screams through the dregs of Otabek’s lost dreams, pleading, persistent. Normally, it wouldn’t be anything to worry about, would probably bleed off into blissful silence before Otabek’s even fully awake, but today it wails and wails and <em>wails</em>. Within the last hazy remnants of sleep, worst case scenarios blur into a deluded fog that seeps through the cracks of his consciousness.  </p><p><em> Yuri</em>.</p><p>Otabek groans, realisation crawling in with the first deep, intentional breaths he drags into his lungs. With rational thinking, he remembers that his boyfriend is in fact the worst kind of fallen angel, a demon who chooses the sirens of hell, or what Otabek imagines they would sound like, to wake up to.</p><p>And to sleep through, apparently. </p><p>“Yura,” Otabek grumbles, rolling onto the side he’s expecting to find a warm, pliable body curled up on its side. Gently, Otabek reaches an arm out, wary not to be slapped or bitten as Yuri’s sleeping subconscious is wont to do if disturbed. Instead of soft skin and the curl of silky hair, Otabek’s fingers meet nothing but the sheets beside him, rumpled, empty.</p><p>Cold.</p><p>Otabek swears beneath his breath.</p><p>When he finally discovers Yuri’s phone, tangled in a blanket with a notebook and an uncapped ink pen, the time settles a deep frustration beneath Otabek’s sleep softened skin. It’s barely after <em>five</em>. Otabek feels like he’s swallowed sandpaper, his tongue rough and heavy in his mouth, his head fuzzy with the dull ache of sleep deprivation. Between the crack in the curtains, the sky is an inky black velvet, the first glimmer of a winter sun deep below the horizon. </p><p>Otabek’s ears ring in the silence left behind by the alarm. It’s still early enough that the first signs of life haven’t crept onto the streets. A single motor passes beneath the window before disappearing into the darkness, or it could be the rush of Otabek’s blood to his head as his props himself up on an elbow.</p><p>There’s a chill to the air in the apartment, the heating not yet kicking in. Otabek wraps the sheets around his shoulders, hugging the warmth his body’s imparted into the fabric over the hours close to his chest, relishing in the lingering scent of two beings, mingled together on the intimate canvas of their mattress. </p><p>“Yura,” he calls out, voice husky with disuse. Otabek presses his nose into Yuri’s pillow and breathes in the rosewater blossom of his shampoo, the first curls of want coiling around his bones. “Yuri?”</p><p>“I’m here, jeez.” Yuri’s voice appears before he does, breezing into their room with far more grace than anyone should possess at such an hour. He’s always gorgeous, but more so in the morning, before the shower has kissed the errant curl out of his hair and yesterday’s clothes are still rumpled around his shoulders. </p><p>Yuri carries a mug in one hand and his sketch pad in the other. There’s a perkiness to his step that suggests that it’s not his first tea of the day, eyes wide and shining with a determination that never fails to intimidate Otabek with its intensity. </p><p>With a grunt, Otabek stretches his arms above his head. Yuri’s gaze follows the flex of his muscles, staring pointedly at where the sheets pool below his navel before flicking away with an efficiency that suggests he has only allotted a certain amount of time to satiate his attraction to his boyfriend. </p><p>Otabek’s only human, though. He thrives beneath the attention, however long it lasts. “How long have you been awake?”</p><p>Yuri peels away the tangle of blankets on his side of the bed and folding himself against the headboard. He sits with his legs beneath him, the hem of the shirt Otabek had worn yesterday riding up his thigh. It’s tempting to roll closer and savour the softness of his skin beneath his mouth, to gently spread his knees apart and bite at the flesh at the apex of his thigh, but he has a feeling that his advances wouldn’t be appreciated, not now that his tablet is on and his lip is caught between his teeth, the ultimate concentration stance.</p><p>“Not long,” Yuri mumbles after a while, not looking up from his work.</p><p>Otabek suppresses a sigh. Not long, in Yuri speak, could mean anywhere between five minutes or five hours. Judging by the darkness that circles his eyes, the almost frantic way he blinks at whatever he’s working on, Otabek’s guessing it’s something closer to the latter. He’d come in late last night too, some time after Otabek had given up waiting and fallen asleep with the lights still on, a lost hope.</p><p>Watching Yuri now, head pillowed on his forearm as Yuri’s hand sketches hurriedly over his pad, Otabek’s heart aches. He’d signed up for this when he fell in love with someone so fiercely ambitious, he’s mightily aware of that fact, but- well.</p><p>He misses him.</p><p>“Stop staring at me,” Yuri snaps, but it holds no real bite. He pauses long enough to glare at Otabek over a sip of tea before he’s picking up his stylus again. “You’re distracting me.”</p><p>Otabek huffs, shuffling closer. Yuri stills for a split second before his carefully composed nonchalance is back. </p><p>“Do you remember,” Otabek murmurs, fingers creeping the distance between them on the mattress, “when the only times we were awake before dawn were to spend more time in bed together?”</p><p>Or in the shower. Or in the kitchen. Or on the sofa. Otabek doesn’t need to mention these to get his message across, though. He can tell it’s hit home by the flush that colours Yuri’s skin, a pretty pink that creeps down his neck and speckles down his sternum, exposed by the popped button of Otabek’s shirt. Licking his lips, Yuri drags in a quivering breath. “Shut up, asshole.”</p><p>Otabek could take it as the half-hearted dismissal that it is and try and go back to sleep, but he’s painfully awake now. It’s impossible to ignore Yuri, especially when he’s warm and awake beside him, mouth pursed, toes curling into the duvet. There’s anticipation between them now; Yuri holds himself still as Otabek continues to soak in the sight of him, the freckles that are dappled sporadically down his legs, the barely-there hint that he’s not wearing any underwear beneath the hem of his shirt.</p><p>Slowly, Otabek reaches for him, curling his fingers around the fine bones of Yuri’s ankle. Yuri’s reaction, if it could be called as such, is a tiny hitch in his breathing that bleeds out into a sigh as Otabek smooths his thumb in circles against his shin. The skin he finds there is soft beneath the drag of stubble; Otabek loves the friction but hates what it means. Yuri, a perfectionist in body and mind, sacrificing his personal wellbeing in favour to squeeze more minutes into an endless working day.</p><p>Otabek wishes there were more minutes, more hours. He wants to luxuriate in Yuri’s presence, to breathe him in and exhale his name, wants there to be nothing between them but sheets and skin, the pressures of the world outside their bubble a concern for another now. It’s an impossible want, but Otabek’s already achieved impossible just having Yuri beside him.</p><p>“Come back to bed,” Otabek murmurs, stroking his skin. </p><p>He knows the odds aren’t in his favour but he can’t help but try. Yuri shifts and sighs, slipping down the bed. For a fleeting moment, Otabek thinks it’s happening. Slowly, Yuri leans into him, letting Otabek taste the honey from his tea on his lips, allowing him the intoxication of Yuri breath mingling with his own for a beat too long, before he’s pulling away.</p><p>“I’ve got too much to do,” Yuri says. It’s the same reasoning every time, though it may be worded differently. <em> There’s a deadline. These designs won’t finish themselves. Lilia needs this done before I meet with her. </em>Otabek is a strong man, he’s got to be to deal with the monotony of security work day in and day out, but beneath that he is a lover. Yuri’s lover. So what if all he wants to have is a lazy morning in bed with his boyfriend before the world wakes up around them?</p><p>Is that too much to ask?</p><p>“Beka,” Yuri breathes when Otabek cups his chin, thumb stroking against his jaw, a final plea. For a second, his eyes flutter closed and he leans into his touch, the heat of his breath skittering down Otabek’s wrist. He’s beautiful, even when exhaustion wears him like a designer gown, even when Otabek becomes an afterthought to the work that consumes his waking thoughts. </p><p>Their eyes meet. Yuri’s breath hitches before he thinks better of himself, pressing a single kiss to Otabek’s palm before he puts a cold, jagged distance between them. Even if Otabek reaches out, he can’t touch him; the space between them is cavernous and whilst Otabek respects Yuri’s wishes, would never dream of forcing him, he can’t help but wish Yuri would be a little more selfish, to put himself first and his career second for once.</p><p>“I’m going back to sleep,” Otabek mutters, deciding not to push it, not quite able to mask the dejection in his voice. </p><p>Yuri sniffs, unfurling himself from the edge of the bed, and collects his things. No doubt he’ll curl himself up on the living room floor for the next couple of hours; Otabek’s lost count the number of times he’s had to scoop Yuri’s body into his arms after he’s fallen asleep there, hunched over himself, face pressed into paperwork. He knows why Yuri does it. He’s a distraction, he’s been told too many times, but is it so bad that he wants Yuri beside him, whether working or sleeping?</p><p>A moment later, Yuri’s soft steps return. Otabek’s heart spikes. He’s finally done it, looked pathetic enough for Yuri to take pity on him and sit beside him whilst he sleeps. The hope is very short lived, though. Cooing gently, Yuri nestles a sleepy Potya in the circle of Otabek’s arm where Yuri’s waist should be, her candy cane striped Christmas collar jingling as she puffs up and makes herself comfortable.</p><p>“To keep you company,” Yuri says softly, brushing Otabek’s hair out of his eyes. There’s a twist to Yuri’s mouth that Otabek doesn’t like, a lilt to his voice that stirs something bitter in his stomach. Before Otabek can reach out, before he can ask, Yuri’s disappearing, leaving nothing but the scent of his skin and the imprint of his expression burning in the back of Otabek’s eyes.</p><p>Potya mewls and digs her claws into Otabek’s chest, a sharp sting that makes him wince. Otabek thinks he probably deserves it, somehow.</p><p>*</p><p>When he wakes for the second time, the sun has just begun to make its journey above the horizon, a smudge of peach in the sea of blue through the open curtains. Otabek’s always hated dark, winter mornings, can never quite seem to shake off the lingering curls of sleep from his bones, and today is no different. He lies in the grumble of Potya’s purrs and the splattering of water from the shower, revelling in the quiet solitude of his thoughts. The missing weight from Yuri’s arms anchoring him is noted, but so is the mug of tea and buttered toast on the bedside table waiting for him when he sits up.</p><p>Otabek smiles and lets himself wake up slowly.</p><p>Yuri appears, flushed and dripping, a few minutes later, the scent of his shampoo drifting after him as he rummages the drawers for his clothes. Otabek indulges in watching him dress, the drop of the towel tucked tight against his hips, the drag of his underwear over his bare legs, the careful way his fingers work around the buttons of his shirt. It’s a silky thing today, pearlescent in colour, that flows across Yuri’s shoulders like sea foam, tucked into a pair of leather trousers so tight Otabek wonders how they haven’t split, especially when Yuri bends to tug on his socks.</p><p>“You’re not subtle,” Yuri tells him, pushing the wet waves of his hair over his shoulder. When he laces up his ankle boots, Otabek swears the sharp tug of his laces is intentional. “And you’re going to make us late.”</p><p>Late for Yuri being anything other than at least half an hour early, of course.</p><p>Otabek rolls his eyes and finishes off the last bite of his breakfast. Unlike <em>someone</em>, his showering is quick and efficient, and his outfit for the day is already laid out across the top of the dresser. He’s got time, especially to shuffle behind Yuri and press a kiss to the bare skin of Yuri’s throat, chasing the drops of water that roll languidly down his skin. He smells like Otabek, is wearing his cologne, and it stirs a desire that he needs to squash <em>right now </em>lest his efficient shower turns into something less so.</p><p>“Itchy,” Yuri murmurs, running his nails through the coarse hair along Otabek’s jaw. He doesn’t resist when Otabek rubs his face into the crook of his neck, sighing sweetly as he sinks into him, arms wrapped around his waist. “I love you.”</p><p>It’s an apology as much as it’s a declaration. Otabek knows this, is intimately familiar in the language of Yuri Plisetsky, and understands. As much as he yearns, as much as he wants to peel away the layers and lay Yuri bare on their bed, he’s grateful to have this. He’d be satisfied to simply share sunrises for the rest of his life, is grateful to have Yuri in any form he gives himself, pieces of him between working hours, a presence beside him as he sleeps.</p><p>“I know,” Otabek murmurs, kissing the words into Yuri’s throat. “I love you too.”</p><p>It’s over sooner than Otabek will ever want it to be. Yuri sighs, always a beginning and an end, and untangles himself. His skin is a pretty rosy pink that Otabek wants to savour, lips parted, perfectly plump. Yuri kisses him once, a gentle brush that lingers at the corner of his mouth, before he forces distance between them. </p><p>“Shower. Shave. Dress,” he commands, picking up his brush from the dresser and running it through his hair. He stares at Otabek in the reflection of the mirror hanging above it and raises an eyebrow. “Now.”</p><p>“Yes sir,” Otabek says, swatting Yuri’s ass as he passes. The surprised yelp is worth the blunt stab of the brush digging into the small of his back. Otabek laughs all the way to the shower, not missing the way Yuri watches him undress in the mirror.</p><p>Yeah, he’s pretty content with this.</p><p>For now.</p><p>*</p><p>Christmas is in full swing across the city, a watercolour of pale fog and bright, blinking lights. It hasn’t snowed yet but there’s a bite in the air that has Otabek wrapping a scarf around his neck and digging his hands deep in his pockets as they walk the short distance from the car park to the main building. Yuri trails ahead of him, stubbornly refusing to wear more than an oversized blazer all in the name of fashion. What he always seems to forget is he can take clothes off when he doesn’t need them.</p><p>Otabek brings an extra hoodie with him, hidden in the bottom of his messenger bag, just in case.</p><p>Over the weekend, the Christmas tree has been erected in the foyer. It’s a real fir, nearly three stories tall, decorated in warm twinkling lights and baubles in accents of cream and gold. Otabek marvels how they even managed to get it through the doors in the first place, gazing up at the perfectly positioned star nestled at the top of the branches.</p><p>Yuri wrinkles his nose beside him. “Did they really have to put fragrance in the grates?”</p><p>It’s true; the scent of pine and spiced apple is intense, only enhanced by the strength of the heating as they walk to the elevator. Otabek secretly likes it; it’s a far cry better than the usual sugared lemon scent of the floor cleaner.</p><p>It’s eerily quiet as they reach Yuri’s floor, the calm before the storm. They’re the first people up here but Otabek knows that the atmosphere will only grow chaotic the more people arrive. He’s been bracing himself for the winter period ever since the first inklings of it began appearing in Yuri’s inbox way back in July. Even after two years experiencing it, Otabek doesn’t think he’ll ever be fully prepared for the full brunt of the Baranovskaya festive period. There’s really nothing like cold, overworked fashion employees; their bitchiness is unlike anything else, no matter who it's aimed at, each other or unsuspecting security guards.</p><p>Once they reach Yuri’s office- he has an <em>office </em>now, it still hasn’t sunk in- Otabek leaves him with a kiss to his forehead and a flick of his nose before he hunts down Ms Baranovskaya’s schedule for the day. At this point, <em> security </em> is just an ornamental title. In reality, Otabek acts more like a personal assistant to her ladyship than any act of protection. He can’t complain, though; it pays the bills and has good benefits, like the cute blonde that lets him buy lunch from time to time.</p><p>For the majority of the morning, Otabek manages to stay out of the line of fire. He hangs at the security station with JJ and helps man the deliveries, vets a few freelancers conducting interviews on company property, sorts through and opens up Ms Baranovskaya’s mail. Otabek has a perfected system in place: one pile, the smallest, for anything of high importance; a second pile for compliments, requests, the usual PR nonsense; a third pile consists purely of hate. </p><p>It’s surprising how many people seem to want to kill Lilia, or at the very least see her empire burn, but it never fails to unsettle Otabek to his core. Otabek gets it- well, a minuscule fraction of his conscious does, the kind that only comes out in the middle of the night. Lilia’s a scary woman. Fierce, as Yuri would say, a perfectionist by nature with countless successes beneath her lambskin, diamond encrusted monogram belt. Rich, powerful, a woman at the very top of her game; it’s no wonder so many quake in her presence, Otabek included.</p><p>Yuri wants to be a future Lilia. It’s no secret that he dreams to be the head designer of his own fashion house, and Otabek fully supports that. It’s just- the thought of the hate mail, the death threats, the stalking, it makes Otabek sick to his stomach. He won’t let that stop him, though; he’ll protect Yuri at all costs, with every breath, every heartbeat, his very being.</p><p>Reading a particularly vicious account of what someone would like to do to Lilia’s head ignites a fire that has Otabek checking in on Yuri more than normal. He attempts to be subtle about it, a peek through the glass cut out of his office door, checking the CCTV as he moves between meetings, peeping his head round his office door with intervals so as to not look suspicious. </p><p>Otabek’s worried, but it’s not by what someone else would do to Yuri. Hunched over at his neck, Yuri’s lip is gnawed red, his skin pallid beneath the harsh white lighting from the downlights. His smiles, whenever Otabek is caught in the act, are always sweet, if a little forced, a brief reprieve from the worry lines creasing his forehead.</p><p>Otabek wishes he knew how to help him when he’s like this, stretched thin and stressing, hair ruffled from the hands that tear through it, foot tapping an anxious rhythm into the floorboards. It’s been two years and although Otabek tries his best, he still feels as clueless as he had in the beginning, watching Yuri wear himself thinner and thinner until something snaps. The catalyst last year had been his beloved MacBook dying, straight up frizzling out of existence. Yuri had cried in the shower for hours, cried himself to sickness; Otabek had held his cold, wet hair as he heaved over the toilet and then sobbed some more into his shoulder. After, when the hiccups had faded to sniffling into silence, he’d slept for an entire weekend and emerged the other side stony faced and more determined than ever.</p><p>It’s the anticipation of it that drives Otabek crazy. It’s going to happen at some point, Otabek can taste it, static on his tongue, in the air that Yuri occupies. Yuri, he bottles and bottles until something comes along and shakes up his carefully put together composition and he explodes. It shouldn’t be hard, finding a way to help him, but Yuri’s stubbornness, his incapability to open up, always seems to prevail.</p><p>All Otabek can do is be there through the rise and fall, a gentle presence, a pair of arms to come home to, no matter how much it hurts.</p><p>“Yura,” Otabek says, more as a courtesy as he elbows into Yuri’s office with his hands full of takeout boxes. </p><p>Yuri doesn’t look up, but Otabek doesn’t expect him to. His hair hangs limp around his face, his fingers tapping against his chin as he thinks. The red varnish that remains is chipped and flaking, the end of his nails jagged. It’s one thing Yuri’s never succumbed to, gnawing at them. One of the first ways Yuri unintentionally seduced Otabek was the way his nails looked twisting his hair between his fingers. He appreciates his hands now as the masterpiece that they are; they allow Yuri to craft, to create, to cling onto Otabek’s as they stumble through life together. </p><p>“Don’t just stand there,” Yuri grunts, scratching at something multiple times with his pen. Otabek sighs and kicks the door closed, depositing their lunch on the only clear space on Yuri’s desk, right next to his name plaque. Yuri’s name is carved into gold, along with his new job title. Yuri’s taken his recent promotion to heart, lead designer for the androgynous fashion line that Lilia’s devised, inspired completely by Yuri’s own work. It’s a great achievement, don’t get Otabek wrong. He’s so incredibly proud of all Yuri’s managed to achieve at such a young age, but.</p><p>Well. </p><p>It doesn’t exactly leave much time for lunch dates, let alone actually eating. Otabek’s bought sushi for a reason; small, hassle free, edible in a single bite. If only he could get Yuri to look up and see…</p><p>“Hey,” Otabek says gently, leaning over the desk, palms braced against the glass. Yuri’s eyes flick up, lips quirking for the briefest glimpse of a smile, but then it’s as if Otabek doesn’t exist at all. Which, well, he’s not particularly fond of to say the least. </p><p>Otabek doesn’t pout but he suspects it’s a close thing. The desk is the first obstacle, so he circles behind it. Yuri’s head tilts towards his footsteps but his concentration never falters. Even when Otabek brushes his hair aside, presses his lips to the back of his neck, Yuri’s fingers never stop moving, flickering between his papers and his keyboard, even if he does shudder beneath Otabek’s touch.</p><p>“Take a break,” Otabek murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Yuri’s ear. He nips at his lobe, careful of the studs that constellate there, before finding the delicious curve where his jaw bleeds into his throat. Otabek feels the click of him swallowing, feels the shudder of his breathing.</p><p>“Beka.” It’s more a gasp than any kind of coherent speech. Yuri tilts his head to bare more of his neck for Otabek’s mouth to explore. His skin is so soft, so warm, sensitive to the graze of Otabek’s teeth over the tension held in his tendon. Yuri’s breath leaves him in a delicious little gasp, one of his hands finally moving to grip the fabric of Otabek’s sleeve. “There’s so much to do.”</p><p>Otabek takes Yuri’s other hand away from the keyboard, lacing their fingers together and nuzzling against his cheek. “Ten minutes, Yura.” </p><p>Yuri ducks his head but relents with a sigh, shifting in his chair until their finally facing. Otabek doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way he feels under the full weight of Yuri’s gaze, the tug deep within his chest stirred by the intensity of Yuri’s bright eyes. He blinks, and Otabek falls into him, breathing in the scent of his skin, the heady concoction of his own cologne embedded into the natural fragrance that’s uniquely Yuri’s own.</p><p>They end up sprawled across the hardwood floor. Yuri’s face is buried in the crook of his neck, fingers clinging to the back of Otabek’s shirt. He’s holding himself so still Otabek would think he were sleeping if it weren’t for the slow butterfly kiss of his lashes against his skin. Sometimes Yuri needs only this, a moment of reprieve within the strength of Otabek’s arms. Other times, it writhes into something more, a heated moment of desperation, a welcome break to relieve the pent up stress.</p><p>It’s not the first time Otabek’s grateful for the seclusion of Yuri’s office and he’s sure it won’t be the last. When Yuri finally kisses him, it’s with a hunger that leaves Otabek breathless, an intensity that has him holding onto Yuri’s waist for dear life. It’s not unwelcome, not in the slightest, but Otabek can’t help but kiss Yuri with a wariness that he hates himself for. It’s just… it’s been a while since Yuri’s touched him like this, needed him.</p><p>“Sorry,” he breathes when he draws away, their lips still brushing, almost as if he knows the thoughts clouding his mind. </p><p>Otabek doesn’t have the chance to speak before Yuri’s kissing him again, hot and heady, fingers tiptoeing up the vertebrae of his neck to nestle in the short hairs of his undercut. The tip of Yuri’s tongue traces the seam of Otabek’s lips and Otabek opens up to him, lets his hands fall to the swell of Yuri’s ass, impossibly tight in his leather pants. He wants to take them off, wants to indulge in his favourite pastime of slowly stripping Yuri down, peeling away the layers until he’s warm and wanting beneath him.</p><p>Now isn’t the time though he sullenly reminds himself, the hot trickle of arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach. Yuri pouts when Otabek draws away, a simple hand on Yuri’s chest and a wry, apologetic smile twisting at his lips. Chest heaving, the spark of desire in the depths of Yuri’s eyes shutters into something dark and steely. Otabek mourns for it, wishes that he hadn’t ruined the moment, had let them get carried away. God knows they need it, Yuri especially; Otabek can’t remember the last time they’ve <em>come </em>together.</p><p>The air between them as Yuri pulls himself off of Otabek’s lap is frigid. Otabek’s brow furrows, the sudden change in temperature between them giving him whiplash. They could have settled into warm familiarity at least, somewhere between the ravenous way they had kissed and the careful distance between their bodies.</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that,” Yuri grumbles, smoothing down the wrinkles in his shirt and rubbing at his swollen, spit-slicked lips with the back of his hand.</p><p>Otabek’s frown deepens. “Like what?” </p><p>“Like <em> that</em>.” Yuri waves a dismissive hand and pulls himself to his feet. The motion is effortlessly graceful considering he can barely bend his knees his trousers are so tight. Otabek scratches the back of his head, confused, as Yuri tears open one of the sushi boxes. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s eating from the wrong order as he chews a piece whole. When he explains himself, it’s with his mouth full. “Like I’m a disappointment.”</p><p>Otabek clenches his jaw. There’s a sourness on the tip of his tongue, the sweetness of Yuri’s kisses disintegrating into something awful. When he swallows, his stomach revolts. He doesn’t- he would <em>never</em>. “I didn’t look at you like that.”</p><p>Yuri doesn’t say anything, flipping through his paperwork, resorting back to his work default of pretending Otabek doesn’t exist. Usually Otabek wouldn’t be phased by it, he’s long grown used to it, but Yuri’s words, the hunch to his shoulders, the bite to his words- Otabek can’t ignore it.</p><p>“Hey,” Otabek says, kneeling at his side. It’s an odd position to be in; Otabek’s vividly reminded of watching his father work as a child, being pushed to one side in favour of what’s in front of him. It’s odd how the past has a peculiar way of repeating itself. He’s older now, wiser. Otabek isn’t about to be ignored again. “Yura. Yuri.”</p><p>“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Yuri says, rubbing at his nose with his elbow. “I’d be disappointed too, if I were me.”</p><p>“Hey,” Otabek says, sterner this time. He hates raising his voice, especially at Yuri, but he hates words being put in his mouth even more. “You are not a disappointment to me.”</p><p>Yuri sniffs, head turned away. Otabek suppresses a sigh and inches closer, resting a hand on Yuri’s knee. His leg is back to jittering, the heel of his boot clicking against the floor like an erratic metronome mimicking the beat of his heart. Otabek tries to soothe it away, smoothing his palm up to Yuri’s hip and back again in what he hopes is a comforting notion. </p><p>It’s always hit and miss when he’s like this; sometimes Yuri needs a city’s worth of space, tucked away in his childhood bedroom at his grandfather’s house. Other times he just needs the gentle, reassuring weight of Otabek’s devotion. If he’s reading Yuri right, the shift of his body sinking lower in his chair, the slackness of his jaw, Otabek’s presence is enough.</p><p>“Yura, look at me,” Otabek says, leaning up on his knees. He rests his knuckles against Yuri’s cheek until he tilts his head, looking at Otabek through his pale lashes. “You are the strongest person I know.”</p><p>Yuri laughs, a horrid wet sound that doesn’t spark light in his eyes. Otabek reaches for him, guides his head so it falls to his shoulder with a damp sniffle, and is thankful for the press of Yuri’s nose against his collar.</p><p>“Shut up,” Yuri mutters, another way to say<em> I love you</em>. His lips find their way to Otabek’s neck, pressing briefly to the spot just below his jaw before coming to rest over his pulse. </p><p>The reprieve doesn’t last long before Yuri's picking himself back up again, eating sushi with one hand and typing with the other as if his eyes aren’t red rimmed and watery and there isn’t wetness drying on Otabek’s collar.</p><p>There’s only so much Otabek can do over one lunch hour, though, but he knows he needs to do something more. It’s all he can think about as he settles into the spare chair Yuri keeps for him in the corner, as the question keeps circling in his mind- what is there that Otabek can do to help Yuri keep himself afloat?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all, thank you to Never, as always, for being my number one supporter and spending the day with me today listening to me moaning about plot and gdocs going down. Thank you to Venom for organising the event and being the best writing buddy ever!</p><p>I am extremely aware that I am walking in nearly two years late with my oatmilk chai but let me tell you, I have MISSED this. </p><p>As some of you may know, this year I have been working on a giant otayuri fic, one that I've been wanting to get to for years, and the unedited, unfishied total for that is currently 110k. Just to give you a little bit of hope that I've got my a game back.</p><p>This, like it's predecessor, was supposed to be a one shot where Otabek fucks some sense into Yuri but, well, it's got out of hand. Big time. This is half of what the first chapter was going to be. The second chapter is written and needs editing, and I've started the third, and I know I say this all the time but thanks to some extremely lovely people I have got back on my writing game. I'm hoping I won't leave you too long without an update, I'll post chapter 2 when 3 has been written.</p><p>So, hi, I guess. What a year, huh? </p><p>Come find me on twitter- I'd love to see you there!</p><p><a href="http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon"> @ItsCatAvalon</a><br/>It feels good to be back.</p><p>xoxo Cat</p></blockquote></div></div>
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